


Foundations Shaken

by solitariusvirtus



Series: From The War [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: 1st part, Family, Family Dynamics, Gen, Inspired by..., Siblings, War, World War I, plus ending, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 05:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14888526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: War is a long chain of losses. But it all starts somewhere.AU!





	Foundations Shaken

“Well, if you could explain one more time why I have to go, but Benjen is allowed to stay home, I would be very grateful,” Lyanna said as her brother did the clasp of her bracelet. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t survive without her for a few hours.

“Father’s orders,” Brandon answered with a small smile, letting go of her hand. “It’s not so bad, sister mine.”

But it was. Lyanna scowled at him and stomped away to stand before the mirror and gaze at her reflection. Mother would have liked the way she looked. Lyanna sighed. She really did not wish to go to another one of those silly balls were father only spoke with his friends and acquaintances and she was an arm ornament. It was so boring. And the fact that Benjen would not have to suffer through it only made her chafe. Had she been a year younger her father might have allowed her to stay home and read, but instead she was to accompany him. How thrilling, she mocked in her head.

Eddard caught her by her upper arm, “It won’t be as bad as all that.” He didn’t even try to sound convincing. Lyanna gave him a wane smile. “Come on.”

The daughter of a staff corporal, even at the tender age of sixteen Lyanna Stark was well aware of her duty. And she had been raised in a strict household. There was little point in fighting over her father’s decisions. It was much easier to do as he said and be done with the whole affair.

“Is everyone ready?” their father’s voice came from the hall.

“Yes, Ser!” she saluted, her jewellery clinking softly with the movement of her hand.

Rickard Stark was as much a military man at home as he was in the field with his soldiers. His children a small military unit themselves. Lyanna was surprised he didn’t march them in a straight line to outings such as the one he took them to at the moment. Both her older brothers had followed father into a military career. Brandon, to emulate Rickard, chose cavalry, but Eddard chose infantry. Lyanna thought both equally dangerous. Why, if her brothers found themselves desiring a good trashing, she was only ever a few feet away. So she told them. Brandon almost choked on his drink when he heard her that time, Ned had laughed.

Rickard came in. “Lyanna,” he called for her, holding his arm for her to reach. There was something comforting about holding his arm. “Your mother looked just like you do when I met her.” And that was a compliment of the highest order, Lyanna thought as her father gave her cheek a soft kiss. Mother had been the great love of her father’s life. Or so he told his children.

All the way to the ball her brother teased her. Lyanna gave back as good as she got, until laughter filled the carriage.       

As these sort of affairs generally went, Joanna Lannister was a true mistress of organising them. Joanna Lannister was the wife of Tywin Lannister, a military genius to hear his kin telling it. Lyanna was not very concerned with him, seeing as she wouldn’t even have to exchange more than a few words with the man. Joanna was another story. For some time the woman had been trying to get her daughter, Cersei, to become friends with Lyanna, for, as she had said countless times, Joanna had admired Lyarra Stark and she and Lyanna’s mother had been good friends when they were girls. Lyanna had nothing against the idea, except that she loathed it with every fibre of her being. Most of time when she spent more than five minutes in Cersei’s presence the urge to strangle her grew almost impossible to ignore. It was not that Cersei could not be nice. Rather, Cersei did not want to be nice.

Case in point, Joanna’s daughter was scowling at her from behind her mother. Lyanna greeted her hosts and went to Cersei’s side as she had been instructed. Even speaking to her father’s friends seemed better and better with each passing moment. At least they had the grace to look with something akin to awareness. Cersei on the other hand looked as if she’d found a new species of insect that she couldn’t wait to crush under the heel of her shoe.

“Cersei, how nice to see you again,” Lyanna said in what she hoped was a perfectly amiable voice. “It’s been so long.” She tried for a smile.

“Not nearly long enough,” the blonde replied, her green eyes sparkling with malice. Lyanna barely refrained from verbally mirroring the sentiment. But Cersei had more to say. “I have heard your father is considering a match for you. With Robert Baratheon.”

If there was one thing that she and Cersei agreed on, then it had to be their view of Robert Baratheon. Behind the charming face of an apparently agreeable rascal hid a true scoundrel – but not of the pleasant kind. “Oh, my dear, I would never dream of trying to steal him from you.”

At that Cersei subtly snapped her jaws in a way that promised pain. Lyanna smiled innocently. Despite not liking the man, Cersei was actively pursuing him. From a purely political point of view, the match was a good one. Robert’s family was old and rich and very much involved in the running of the country. It was not to the family that Lyanna protested, but to the man himself. There was a darkness about his character that she could not stomach. But she was perfectly happy to allow other woman to have him. After all, who was she to begrudge some other lady the privilege of bearing the illustrious title of duchess?

From the corner of her eye she saw the subject of their little dialogue making him way towards them. Lyanna gave Cersei a sideways glance and excused herself. “I must find my brother. He promised me a dance, you see?” She left Cersei in the company of one flustered Robert and hurried towards her brother.

Bradon gave her a curious look as if to ask her what the matter was. “Sister,” he greeted her, offering his arm.

“Dance with me,” Lyanna murmured through gritted teeth. He raised an eyebrow at her and she was tempted to kick him for it. He’d heard her. “Don’t be wretched, Bran. Dance with me.”

“Well if I must.” He gave her a mock bow. “Will you dance with me, my dear sister?”

“I’d be delighted,” Lyanna said in a manner that told him exactly how much delight she derived from it.

Brandon was and had always been a terrible dancer. Lyanna herself had never been a master of the art, but she was passable. Her brother, wretch that he was, took care to tread on her feet whenever he got the chance. By the end of it Lyanna was starting to consider begging him to never ever accept being bullied into a dance again, especially not with her. She couldn’t actually care less about other unfortunate souls that fell in that particular trap.

“That was invigorating,” her brother said, leading her away. Lyanna shot daggers at him from her eyes. She fortunately managed not to do him any violence; the only impediment being the bevy of witnesses.

“You are horrid,” she accused him softly, twisting his hand lightly. “I can’t feel my toes.” Her complaint was met with a look of triumph. Drat; he had the gall to be proud of himself.

“You knew the dangers beforehand,” he pointed out unsympathetically. “Perhaps next time you won’t be quite so eager to partner me.”

She couldn’t say anything more to such a shameless brother, so Lyanna simply squeezed his arm. “Take me to father.”

“Your wish is my command,” Brandon murmured, guiding her through the crowd towards their parent. Rickard barely noticed their arrival, so busy was he having a contradictory conversation with some fellow members of the Small Council. “Father,” Brandon called his attention, “good evening, and to you too, gentlemen.”

Lyanna curtsied and offered the small gathering a polite smile. These men knew her well enough, about as well as she knew them. They were all upstanding men, preoccupied with the welfare of the Seven Kingdoms. “Gentlemen,” Lyanna echoed her brother’s greeting.

If her father was not taking care of state business, then he was thinking of state business or discussing current problems with his political allies. There was much to be learned by sharing into the conversation or even just listening. Lyanna might have been a trifle harsh when she had claimed that her father’s companions ignored her. They were certainly very much aware of her presence. Fortunately it was not enough to stop them from continuing their earlier discussion. Lyanna sat on a chair and listened.

“Our collaborator is certain we must keep our eyes on the Dornish. I would not discount the advice.” Lord Rosby said, his ruddy face awash in sweat. “They are wily those Dornishmen.”

“I am certain they are planning something nefarious,” Luthor Tyrell declared. There was no love lost between Lord Tyrell and the Dornish lords at court. If anything they shared a strong loathing that Lyanna –  try as she might – could not understand.

“Nonsense,” her father cut him off. “Dorne is not trying anything. ‘Tis the Westerlands you need to worry about. They would plunge us all into war if they could.”

“Is that why you had a falling out with young Lord Robert?” Aemon Targaryen questioned, a smile moulding his whip-thin lips. He was the oldest man on the council and according to Cersei – who made it a point to find some unflattering information about any person she encountered – the man had a weak mind. Lyanna disagreed with the sentiment, but she did not voice it as that meant actually speaking to Cersei, which she had no particular wish of doing.

As for Robert, Lyanna had known some sort of misunderstanding curtailed his visits. She was by no means disheartened and if it were possible she fervently prayed that their quarrel had lasting results. While Rickard had not pushed his daughter into a commitment, he had hinted that nary a protest would leave his lips if she decided to set her cap at Robert Baratheon. Lyanna had stalled. And it had paid off. Happy as a lark, Lyanna returned her attention to the ongoing conversation. There would be time to contemplate her good fortune at a later time.

The men were engaged in a heated discussion on the topic of economy. Her father and Lord Tyrell argued for a better development and more funds for the army, while Rosby denied any such need. Masters Aemon tried to calm the spirits, though his success was debatable.

The army was privileged, that could not be denied. As of late money was being poured in that sector. New weapons were being bought and the soldiers received generous salaries, so more and more men joined the army. Why anyone would think that the army needed even more aid, Lyanna could not tell. She did know, however, that they were on the brink of something. But would it prove marvellous or horrifying?

“Help us settle this argument, won’t you, Lya?” Brandon shook her out of her thoughts. She raised one eyebrow in surprise. “We cannot seem to agree at this point.”

“I daren’t,” she laughed. “But I am certain I shall be forgiven.” Lyanna looked around, taking note of the dancing couples.

“Oh, but you must,” Aemon Targaryen insisted.

From time to time, she was called upon to settle an argument. Lyanna did enjoy such occurrences. The men rarely withheld the scintillating facts which where otherwise difficult to come by. “I daresay our army has nothing to fear. Without embossing, our men are courageous and skilled. I say we work on their morale.” 

Her proposal was met with nods of agreement and even a laugh or two. Pleased by the response, Lyanna inclined her head to them.

 

 

 

Lyanna descended the stairs, fiddling with the ribbon holding her hair ties as she went. She had spent very little time sleeping and it showed in the way she yawned and struggled to keep her eyes opened. There was something irrefutably criminal about being woken at the crack of dawn. For unlike her older brothers, Lyanna had no military training and sleep was a very enjoyable activity.

Nonetheless, she could not ignore a direct summon. Benjen had barrelled in her room and shaken her awake, claiming that father wanted to speak to them. Lyanna had been tempted to laugh in his face and bury her head back under the pillow, intent on returning to the land of dreams. But something about his face had stopped her.

Recent events had left not only the Starks, but indeed the whole realm in a quandary. It all started with the alleged assassination of Qazdar zo Gallare, a Meereenese prince and heir to their throne while he was visiting the Stormlands. Of course his nation had been outrage and demanded to know who had dared disrespect and injure them so. Lyanna considered the Seven Kingdoms lucky, for Meereen would have been within its right to declare war on Westeros. However, by intervention of the Westerosi King and the Small Council the two nations had managed to come to an agreement.

The agreement went as followed: Meereenese authorities where to send their best men to the Stormlands, while the Seven Kingdoms would sent their own experts to investigate the case of the murdered prince. One would have expected that to suffice. Yet it hadn’t. Upon discovering that it was indeed a murder and that the perpetrator was a Dornishman, Meereen had accused the Seven Kindgoms of trying to usurp their freedom. It was bandied about that a war was inevitable when the King replied that the Meereenese did not know what to do with their freedom.

Rickard Stark had been mostly away from home, various military preparations having fallen on his shoulders. Lyanna could not doubt there was indeed to be a war. Men were encouraged more than ever to join the army, it was even made compulsory for those above eight and ten to do so. And those above four and ten were too allowed into the ranks so long as their legal guardian agreed. Unable to bear thinking about it, Lyanna sought some other subject to set her mind upon.

Father awaited in the library, along with Brandon, Ned and Ben. Lyanna was last to enter. She closed the door behind her and sat down to where her father pointed, next to an assortment of biscuits and a pot of tea. It paid to be well known by one’s parent, Lyanna thought, filling a cup for herself. “Would anyone else like a cup of tea?” she asked.

Surprisingly enough, her brothers glanced at her as if a second head had sprouted out on her shoulders. Ned looked rather green as if the mere thought of a cup of tea made him ill. Brandon, with even more impertinence that was usual for him, glared at her as if she’d been taking the gods’ name in vain. Refusing to be cowed by such antics, Lyanna glared fiercely at both of them. She had been raised with manners.     

Rickard cleared his throat. “I have an announcement to make,” he said, hand resting on the polished wood of his desk. “You have all heard about the recent incident that has put a strain on our relationships with Meereen.” The children nodded dutifully. Rickard grimaced. “Unfortunately, we have been unable to convince Meereen of our innocence in the matter of their prince’s death.”

“Is this what I think it means?” Benjen asked, his eyes shining. No doubt he thought of men of valour on the field of battle.

“It means,” Rickard shot him a glare, “that they have officially declared war upon us. We are as of yesterday at war with Meereen and its allies Lys and Volantis. They have already launched their ships and a small skirmish has taken place at the boarders.”

A heavy silence settled over them. To know they were at war was one thing. To have been attacked was quite another. Meereen, Lys and Volantis were powerful countries with a flourishing economy. Their industry was to be envied and their richness coveted. If they combined forces against Westeros, there was little doubt that they could do much and more damage.

“What are we to do?” Lyanna found herself asking. She looked from her father to the three brothers. Her poor brothers. A horrible thought hit her then. Her brothers were going to fight. A gasp left her lips.

“Don’t make yourself ill, daughter,” Rickard ordered. “You and Benjen shall leave for Winterfell as soon as your luggage has been packed. In fact the maids are right now taking care of this matter. There is a train headed to Winter Town leaving today. Seats have been purchased and a small staff shall be accompanying you.”

“But I don’t want to leave!” Benjen exploded. He had been growing redder and redder with each of father’s words. “I won’t run away. If the Meereenese think they can attack us, they’ll have to get through me first.”

“Don’t be daft!” Lyanna snapped at him, gripping his arm tightly. “What will you do? Throw sticks at them? You’re just a child.”

“You are leaving,” Rickard told the boy. “There will be other wars to fight if that is what worries you. There is no shortage of armed conflict to be had, I assure you, son. And when you are a man grown, if that is your choice, you shall go with my blessings. But not a moment before you are an adult.”

Her brother deflated. His shoulders sagged and his mouth fell into a straight line. Lyanna shook her head. Father only wanted what was best.

“Is there anything else, papa, or shall I go and make ready?” If they had to leave, she would like to make sure they had everything they needed on the journey.

“Do so,” he answered. “Brandon and Ned will drive you to the station. I must report to headquarters.”

And like that Lyanna kissed her father’s cheeks goodbye and tried to convey all her love through a squeeze of hands. She wished him safe and well and would wait for him to come back to them in Winter Town.

She did not stay to hear what Benjen said. Instead she climbed the steps back to her room and saw that all things were in order. Packing did not take long, not with Lyanna helping the maid. Once the trunks had been loaded, Lyanna dressed sensibly for the journey ahead.

Discomforted by the news and still in shock she did not speak much on the way to the station. Brandon and Eddard tried to convince her that she needn’t worry for they’d protect her. Benjen chimed in too. But Lyanna could not shake off a feeling of dread that had formed in the pit of her stomach. She knew her brothers would hold their word. Yet she also knew there was danger to them holding that particular word.

Tearful goodbyes followed. Much to the embarrassment of Brandon, Lyanna clung to him tightly and cried in his shirt, never dissuaded for a single moment by the odd stares being levelled at them. Ned accepted her embrace with more grace and even returned it. He did not tease her about the tears like Brandon had. Instead he kissed the crown of her head softly just as the train came in. Benjen and Lyanna were ushered in.

“Promise you shall write,” Lyanna called out to them just as the train started moving. They shouted back a reply she could not hear. She pulled back and sat down on a chair.

 

 

 

Father had taken care to give them the best accommodations that could be had. While she was grateful for that, Lyanna also felt miserable. Even Benjen was subdued. For all the teasing he had done with Ned and Brandon, he grew quiet and melancholy. Normally she would have attempted to cheer him up. But when she herself could barely manage a polite smile, it was best to leave it alone.

There was little to do but to watch out the window. She had brought a few books, but reading did not suit her mood. Perhaps sleeping or contemplating the human nature. Her mind refused to cooperate. She was being packed off a thousand miles away from all the comfort she knew, left to take care of her brother, while the other people she cared about would face death itself in perhaps a few days. The thought was as far from comforting as could possibly be. How could she even pretend thinking of anything but that? Her mind was filled with all the gruesome stories old comrades of her father’s had shared with her at some point or another. And the faces of her father and brothers haunted her in those visions.

“Do you remember the last time we went to Winter Town?” she asked her brother out of the blue, feeling the need to dispel the silence between them. Benjen looked away from the window at her. “You were four. I’m just curious if you remember.”

“I don’t,” he admitted with a flush. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Mother was still alive then. She insisted that father take us to Winter Town every year. At least once.” Lyanna smiled at a memory. “Mother loved Winter Town. She grew up there, you know?”

Benjen nodded in acknowledgement. “Father told me. She was a good rider too.”

“Just like us,” Lyanna agreed. “Father swears it’s a talent we get from her.” It was true, in part at least. Lyarra Stark had been a formidable rider. Her younger children took after her in that and their love for horses.

While her father was a good rider too, he was not passionate about it. For him a horse was a means of transportation. Mother used to keep horses at their estate near Winter Town. As a little girl, Lyanna would follow her around and beg to be taught to ride. She had eventually convinced her parents.

Soon after, Lyarra had died. Lyanna continued her riding lessons as a way of feeling close to her lost mother. It was like holding onto a small piece of her, comforting and unexpectedly pleasant. Yet father had restricted her time with horses. And she had none of her own. Their visits to Winter Town stopped with her mother’s demise. Their father mourned her too deeply to return to the place of her death.

“Do you think we’ll like it there?” Benjen questioned, elbows on his knees. “Won’t it be boring? We know no one there.”

“We’ll make friends soon, you’ll see. Think of this as an adventure.” They would be protected and cared for. Lyanna knew their father would not have sent them away without making proper preparations. “I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy your time with. Perhaps target practice.”

He scowled at that. “First I’d have to learn how to shoot.” It galled him that Lyanna had been taught how to wield pistols, but not he. “You’ll teach me right?” Their father had promised to do so at some point, but hadn’t for fear of Benjen actually getting in some sort of mischief. He was prone to that.

“Of course I will.” Lyanna smiled, favouring Benjen with a warm look. “But you have to promise me you won’t tell father. He would be so cross with both of us.” She shuddered at the very thought.

“I’m not about to shoot myself in the foot,” Benjen grumbled. “You could try trusting me for once.”

“But I do trust you.” Just not his logic, which always seemed to bring them into some trouble or another. “There, I trust you and you can be sure I’ll have you shooting targets in no time.”

“That I like the sound of,” he replied.   

 

 

 

Winter Town was not much different from Lyanna’s memories. It was still the same quiet place with narrow streets and little, white-washed houses. The only new addition was the Sept that had been built a couple of years back. It stood in the middle of the town, grand and imposing, its towers piercing the clouds.

A long time ago, the main religion of the North had worshipped the old gods. That specific religion had no places of worship aside from the godswood up at the old castle of Winterfell. It was said that the ancient weirwood tree with its gnarled braches, white bark and blood coloured foliage existed since before the Targaryen conquest of old. It had once been the heart of faith in these places. But not any longer. Very few still held onto those beliefs. Even those raised in the North.

Lyanna’s own mother had grown in Winter Town, to the family of a well-off banker, who by some strange twist of fate bore the name of Stark. She hadn’t known her father though, for he’d died by the time she was a girl of four. Her mother soon followed, expiring of consumption. Lyarra had been taken in by the local orphanage until someone could be contacted to care for her. At said orphanage, she had been educated in the Faith of the Seven, like most other children.

As it happened, she had some family in the south, but they were found later. Lyarra was already thirteen by that time. They had insisted on taking her with them to King’s Landing, where she grew up alongside other cousins. It had been at that time that Rickard met Lyarra. In a short while, when she was just seventeen, they married.

It was beautiful and romantic, as far as Lyanna could tell and she had always asked her mother to tell her that story before going to sleep. The true end had come far too soon, of course, and Lyanna had been crushed by it. Her mother’s death was a dark shadow hanging over her. Lyanna’s remaining parents had tried to fill the void, and to a certain extent Rickard had managed that. But his daughter would have still liked to know her mother better. She barely even remembered what the woman looked like. A very striking detail, though, had been her blue eyes. Out of all her children, only Benjen had those eyes.

“This wasn’t here before, was it?” Benjen asked, as he leaned over Lyanna’s form to get a better look at the Sept.

Shaking her head, Lyanna pushed him back gently. “No. Apparently it was constructed a couple of years after mother’s death.”    

“Well, at least we’ll be able to come and pray,” her brother grumbled under his breath. Benjen rarely enjoyed being forced into his best clothing and dragged all the way from home to listen to a Septon droning on – his sentiment, not Lyanna’s.

“And you can be sure we shall make use of every opportunity,” Lyanna promised him with a slight smile on her face. “I would hate to deprive you of anything, little brother.”

There were not a religious lot, Lyanna reckoned; the Starks had never been all that much engaged in matters of faith. It was held among themselves that one’s belief were quite enough to validate their religious practice. Therefore, while Brandon and Eddard sometimes attended the Septon’s sermons, they did not claim the faith of the Seven. Both had a rather pragmatic view of the world. Lyanna claimed herself a believer, while Benjen was not quite sure what he wanted. His sister suspected his principal dislike of the faith stemmed from the fact that his older brothers shunned it.  

 

 

 

Brandon never wrote.

 

 

 

_I bought a horse from a village boy today. He’s a fine thing and you would like him exceedingly. Just the type you adored riding when we were children. His legs are swift. His gait even as a ruler. A magnificent beast as the drawing will surely show. I want you to hear of your envy knowing I shall hoard him all to myself._

 

 

 

_We went in for three days then out for a rest for about one day then back again. The water was well over our knees in the trenches and it was impossible to use the communication trenches at all. We were still holding the front line with two platoons . Our platoon was twenty two strong and during the bombardment we had quite a few put out in ten minutes. There were no dugouts of any description there, so you can imagine what it was like to stand there for so many nights. It was our hope the weather would hold so we could go over and get it done with but it was not to be. One night we were out digging when they let us have it for five hours with gas shells, we had two chaps hit with them and put right out._

_Some of our horses were killed alongside them. My Lad is in fine form though. Good sport and an even better worker. His coat is duller these days, but his affections never wane. Sometimes I wonder what I would do without his constant presence._

 

 

_On behalf of the Officers and men of my Company I wish to offer you my most sincere condolences in the bereavement you have sustained. The death of your brother would be, I feel, of interest to you. Your brother was mortally wounded by an enemy shell and though he was granted immediate medical attention, there was nothing to be done for him. I hope it comforts you to know he was unconscious, thus suffered no pain upon his passing. Know he had the esteem of all his comrades and that his loss was felt with general sorrow by the Company._

_He wrote down in his will that all effects should be passed onto his sister at ...  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Well I felt this was an apt piece to bring back considering our precarious situation in this day and age.
> 
> I know, not anything to really appreciate with this one, but I luckily found the notes I made for it.


End file.
